


Burnt Toast

by noodleinabarrel



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series, Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Breakfast in Bed, Domestic, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Ficlet, First Time, Fluff, M/M, Morning After, POV Spock, Post-Star Trek I: The Motion Picture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-15 07:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8047957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noodleinabarrel/pseuds/noodleinabarrel
Summary: Spock contemplates his newly unbound emotions post-Kolihnar as Jim brings him a sparse breakfast in bed.





	Burnt Toast

**Author's Note:**

> This was written to celebrate K/S Day 2016! <3

The smell of charcoal infiltrated their living quarters. Six point two seconds later, the smoke alarm was initiated, the loud repetitive beep piercing through Spock’s meditative state.

“Okay, okay! Stop whining,” Jim yelled above a clamor of flapping, as if a bird had entered his apartment through the open window recently slammed open. A cool breeze pimpled Spock’s skin.

The alarm ceased its racket and the smoke tickling Spock’s olfactory nerves dissipated upon a rush of fresh air. Cupboards opened and closed. A knife scratched along a rough surface. Footsteps padded softly on carpet. Once, these sounds would have disturbed him with uncertainty. They were ritualized—carefree movements that denoted intimacy, a domestic humanity that clashed with his Vulcan indifference. Now, a fierce desire to cohabitate in this undiscovered world tugged at his heart, while logic struggled for dominance with each stumbling emotional step he took.

Logic had won the first battle when Spock left Starfleet, abandoned his captain, his friend, his almost lover, to seek the ultimate silence—Kolinahr, an absolute purging of emotion. In the end, this simple feeling he shared with Jim had persevered. A feeling sealed in the recesses of his mind, ignored, suppressed, until he was ready to adequately appreciate its worth.

Spock was surprised how easily he adapted to this pervading noise of companionship. For the past three years, the blistering dessert sun and the silence of his thoughts, as he repeatedly knotted the rituals of Kolinahr around them, had cloaked him in solitude. Indeed, his mind now shifted focus to his auditory system, craving more, analyzing the infinitesimal reverberations within each sound. A cautious step, the slosh of liquid within a cup.

Spock exhaled on the last breath of his meditative state and opened his eyes.

“Hey,” Jim smiled at him, restraint layered in the fine lines around his mouth. This was their first morning on Earth after the events related to V’ger. The first morning they had spent within each other’s presence since Spock had abandoned Jim when the pressure of emotion had become too much for his once monochrome mind. Once, Jim had smiled at Spock with ease, affection freely given until Spock had blatantly rejected it. Spock had engraved those lines into Jim’s face. He wanted to press a finger along them, smooth away the rough patches, consume them with his lips.

This was their first morning together after the consummation of their sexual relations.

“Good morning,” Spock replied, his eyes devouring the sight of Jim’s ruffled hair curling around the edges. He had bathed, and Spock, despite being immersed within the depths of meditation at the time, regretted that Jim had not invited him to join. There would be time, however, to get to know each other in this new state of their relationship, to experience the feeling of Jim’s skin under his fingers, damp and softened by the heat of a hot shower, moist lips against his own, water filling their mouths and the microscopic spaces between their bodies. Spock inhaled sharply as his imagination unfurled around these rousing images. His body was still raw, tactile senses heightened, after the gasping breaths and grasping touches, both gentle and desperate, shared with Jim last night.

Jim held out both his hands. The left held two mugs by the handle. One contained Jim’s coffee, the other a light green substance; both issued steam from their contents. In the right, he lifted a plate with a charred lump of bread.

“I know you like green tea, but wasn’t sure how you liked your toast.” Jim laughed lightly, his eyes mirroring the tilt of his lips. “Or if you even eat toast. All those years crammed in a starship together, and for the life of me, I can’t remember what you usually ate for breakfast.”

“That is unsurprising,” Spock said, taking Jim’s offering with a nod. He forced his overly trained features to soften and convey appreciation for Jim’s attempt at hospitality with the presentation of nutritional substance; even if Spock found the dark crumbling appearance of said ‘toast’ to be nutritionally suspect. As his mother always stated, it was the thought that counted. Jim’s presence was more important to Spock, no matter the distastefully scorched smell emanating from the plated soot.

“My morning meals were generally taken two to three hours before you began your day. Vulcans require—”

“Less sleep than humans,” Jim finished with a grin. “I know.” He rubbed a hand along the back of his neck, glancing down at the carpet. Spock was briefly reminded of tickling hair against his fingertips as he explored that region of Jim’s anatomy, grasping his neck while caught in an overwhelming flush of pleasure, sensations from two minds blending and morphing within the intricacies of his unguarded conscious.

“I left it plain to be safe. But I have peanut butter or jam, so I can slap some of that on. If you like. Whatever you want.” Spock wondered at Jim’s sudden hesitation. Although his captain had rarely blanched in the face of danger, Spock now perceived Jim’s fear as if it were a tangible substance. Even their eventual passions last night had been suffused with repeated questions from Jim of, “is this ok, is this all right?” His hands had been tentative and patient until Spock’s tense muscles had melted to liquid fire, thoughts shifting into ephemeral smoke. Spock had lifted his mouth to swallow Jim’s doubts with a stroke of tongue and fingers, answering them with an uncharacteristic physical confidence of his own.

Taking a sip of tea, the temperature not too hot that it scalded his throat, but warm enough to provide a comfortable sensation that awoke his nerves from the last vestiges of sleep, Spock placed the saucer on the bedside table and regarded the slice of toast. It was overly cooked, dark brown with blackening spots around the edges. Jim had an odd preference for the taste of charcoal. Doctor McCoy had repeatedly lectured Jim about his tendency to over set the heat temperature on the Enterprise’s synthesizer when replicating his meals.

“The toast is adequate,” Spock answered. Crumbs fell, scratching against his fingers as Spock lifted the slice to his mouth and took a bite, the crunch echoing in his ears. As he chewed, his salivary glands dried up under the smoky taste. When he swallowed, the matter clawed at his esophagus.

Spock drank a large gulp of tea and took another bite.

“Sorry it’s just toast. I haven’t had a chance to restock the fridge since I got back. All I had was a loaf of bread in the freezer.” Jim sat down next to Spock, the weight of the mattress sinking and sparking an illogical curl of flame low in Spock’s stomach. “You sure you’re ok? You don’t need anything else? There’s a bakery down the street. I could pick up croissants or something.” As Spock chewed his third bite of toast, he admired the shape of Jim’s fingers wrapped around his coffee mug. The blue shade of the pottery contrasted against the pink tinge under his fingernails. He watched as Jim lifted the cup to his mouth, lips cradling the edge, fingers tilting, and the bob of his Adam ’s apple as he swallowed. Shifting delicately, Spock pressed his knee firmly against Jim’s, delighting in the transference of body heat beneath the flannel of pajama bottoms.

“Or stop by the grocery store if there’s something specific you want,” Jim continued, his eyes now trained of the point where their bodies met.

Spock swallowed another bite and a hydrating gulp of tea. “There is no need to trouble yourself.”

Jim glanced up hurriedly, his eyes flickering gold within the streaming sunlight from the window. The sight reminded Spock of a night they had spent together four years ago under a rocky overhang during a night on the newly discovered planet of Arius II. An ion storm had blocked the Enterprise’s transporter capabilities, and its captain and first officer had been forced to make camp for the night. Jim had laughingly referenced the provenance of never forgetting skills learned during formative years among a childhood scouting group, as he gathered branches and brush, striking flint and rock over the structure until embers lit. Bending low, the captain had pursed his lips to blow oxygen into the burning logs, smoke veiling his features. Not for the first time, Spock had suppressed a latent desire to explore the texture of that tinted mound of flesh, tasting the captain’s breath on his tongue. And to observe the look in Jim’s eyes as he did this, in the hopes he would discover a matching heat in their recesses.

“It’s no trouble, Spock. I want you to feel at home. Whatever you need, I’ll get it or you.” Jim reached out, his hand pausing midair for one point three seconds before wrapping around Spock’s knee. His thumb circled in a hypnotizing fashion as Spock’s brain directed its focus to the pinpoint of sensation, fabric bunching around skin.

“At this time, I find I require nothing other than your presence,” Spock breathed. Stuffing the last piece of toast into his mouth, Spock’s now free hand wrapped around Jim’s, residual crumbs clinging to his epidermis and creating a satisfying sensation along his nerve endings as they scratched between the dance of entwined fingers. When Jim moved forward, Spock embraced the temptation of his friend’s smile, their breath mingling with the taste of coffee and charcoal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed and would like to share this fic, here's a convenient Tumblr reblog link: <http://noodleinabarrel.tumblr.com/post/150477441769/the-smell-of-charcoal-infiltrated-their-living>
> 
> If you'd like to keep in touch, I can be found on [Tumblr](http://noodleinabarrel.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/noodleinabarrel) for spirk fangirling and writing blather.


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